


Iniquity

by theLiterator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Impala, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After several weeks without a hunt, Dean is spoiling for a fight. Sam is spoiling for something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iniquity

  
"What the hell was that about, Dean?" Sam demanded angrily as he dabbed at the cut along Dean's cheek.

"They started it," Dean muttered, then he hissed as Sam applied antiseptic.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to insult his mother like that and make the _entire bar_ decide to assault you!"

"Hey, it's not like you didn't enjoy it! We haven't had a hunt in three weeks." Dean wore a shit eating grin as he spoke.

"And that means what? That we have to start a brawl in order to get our rocks off? Well, I'll tell you what, having my heart in my throat watching six men try to take you? Not my idea of a good time." Sam's tone was not full of his usual cool concern but truly angry.

Dean's hand shot up as he gestured. "Well, Sammy, what do you think I should do to let off some steam, huh?"

Sam pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. He didn't bother answering right away, just pressed the final butterfly bandage over the cut on Dean's cheek with too much pressure, and used the opportunity presented when Dean flinched a little to press his advantage. He twisted Dean around against the trunk, pressing him down until Dean's injured cheek was forced against the cool metal of the car, barely noticing when the overstocked first aid kit hit the pavement.

He jerked Dean's wrist behind his back. "This," he said, then grabbed Dean's hair and twisted his head around so Sam could capture those full lips in a brutal, claiming kiss.

Dean struggled against Sam, but not enough to actually dislodge him, so Sam smiled into the kiss. Dean was wholly capable of throwing him off with little effort. This token resistance was as good as a yes from Dean.

Sam bit at Dean's mouth until his lips parted, rewarded the compliance by easing up, allowing Dean to twist his body into a less awkward position, but he brought his left hand down to fondle between Dean's legs, enjoying the heaviness of Dean's reluctantly growing arousal.

"C'mon Dean," he muttered against Dean's mouth, "Let go for me." Dean whimpered and pulled away, bent over the trunk fully. Dean hissed as Sam's fondling turned purposeful and his fly was unbuttoned. As Sam eased Dean's jeans over his hips reverently, he could see Dean clenching his eyes shut.

Sam pulled away from Dean long enough to spot the first aid kit on the wet pavement, fumble inside and find some mineral oil, while Dean simply held himself rigid and exposed in a dirty parking lot over the trunk of the Impala.

Sam squeezed a generous amount of the slippery liquid into his palm and fingers, and slid them along Dean's crack. With his dry hand, he stroked the back of Dean's head. Dean flinched, and Sam bent close over his brother, pinning him and whispering, "Tell me if it hurts," as he slid his index finger inside Dean.

Dean jerked, in surprise or pleasure, but didn't say anything. Sam crooked his finger with practiced ease and brought his other hand down and around to test Dean's growing arousal.

When Dean gave no reaction other than growing hard and hot in Sam's hand, Sam slipped a second finger into Dean and started to fuck him, setting a brutal rhythm, hoping for a reaction, _anything_, from Dean. Dean just relaxed his muscles, one by one in visible succession, clearly intent on just passively accepting this from Sam. Sam, in turn, almost hesitated. Almost.

With Dean not stretched quite enough, the first thrust was too tight, too much, not enough, and Sam collapsed, buried balls-deep in Dean, and suppressed a sob against the line of Dean's shoulder, every muscle aching to pull out, thrust again, to just fucking finish what he had started, but Dean was unresponsive beneath him, and this is _not_ what Sam wanted, this is never how he wants it and he doesn't know how to stop.

In the end, he gave in to his body, thrusting slow jerky thrusts in time to his fist sliding over Dean's cock, and he focused on that part of the action, making sure to add the flick of the wrist at the end of each stroke that he knew would bring Dean to the edge.

Then, too soon, too soon, Dean comes, spilling sticky jets over Sam's fist, soiling the back of the Impala, and Dean's entire body goes rigid with the forced pleasure, clenching just right around Sam's cock.

Sam squeezed the soft flesh around Dean's hip with his finger tips and pushed hard into his brother. He rested his weight on Dean's back trying to keep the body pinned beneath him. He grunted and took in a much needed lungful of breath.

Dean pressed his hands against the car and tried to push himself into a standing position. "You okay, Sammy?" His voice was fragile.

Something in Sam broke, but he squeezed Dean's wrists and slammed them back onto the car above Dean's head. "Shut up!" he shouts, but it's too late, and he withdraws from Dean's body and turns away to tuck himself back in his jeans.

His hands shook and he tried to breathe through the spasms, focusing on shoving everything back into the first aid kit, but he can't, and he stumbled from a crouch to kneeling, head bowed, shoulders jerking with his shaky shallow breaths and he couldn't remember why he's hyperventilating for one blessed moment, but then Dean was right there, arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders like he could absorb the sobs, absorb the pain and self-loathing that caused them.

"It's okay, man," Dean said, his voice a familiar soothing growl in Sam's ear, then pulled back and cleared his throat. "Let's get in the car."


End file.
